


Desert Traveler

by entrenched



Series: House of Gold [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Discrimination, Character Study, F/M, Gap Filler, Gen, Mentions of Claude's Mother, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2020-09-01 08:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20254846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entrenched/pseuds/entrenched
Summary: “Good thoughts, good words, good deeds,” they told Claude when he was younger.Of all the lessons that had been impressed upon him, Claude remembered this well. It was a message that tempered the ravaging flames in his chest that rose up each time someone – of Almyra or Fódlan alike – thought it wise to strike him down. It helped him lick his wounds on days he wanted to dip his face in homemade acid to see if it would make a difference.Think good thoughts.Speak good words.Do good deeds.-A character study of sorts following Claude's development throughout the course of the game. (Spoilers for Verdant Wind)





	1. The Wayward Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first cut is the deepest.

_The first hit hurts the most_, Claude thought in retrospect.

It was minor, honestly nothing to get worked up about: a passing remark swiftly followed by a tackle to the ground. Minor infraction as it was, the assault was also the youth’s realization that there was something about him that just wasn’t right. Initially, the six year-old boy did not see it coming, but really, did anyone ever anticipate blows to the head or insults in the street without provocation? 

Perhaps that was why it hurt so much.

It always struck Claude as an oddity that there were people who not only had the capacity to be cruel, but were able to weaponize that cruelty so heftily for what seemed to him like no good reason.

“No good.” 

He’s heard that one too. One too many times by one too many people.

You would imagine that a son born of nobility from two corners of the map could logically double his access to power. Ironically for Claude, the two bloodlines seemed to cancel each other out. He was only left a mark – both invisible and unremovable – that would become the foundation of his identity as an outsider.

An enemy.

Ah, the beatings made sense now.

Despite a childhood plagued by cruelty, the future heir to House Riegan – not that anyone thought he'd ever become that – had accepted that he was ultimately going to be primed for just that: a role of great power. Claude spent his days, months, and years either locked in the library of the tallest tower memorizing the history of his ancestors long gone, or strung behind the back of a horse. Whatever he was doing, Claude knew that it would soon be worth it. The boy was hungry for skill, hungry for knowledge. Anything to sharpen his defenses against days he’d prefer to forget. 

On rare days of rest, Claude often found himself in deep concentration, eyes burning holes into a tactical map of messy arrows and circles or experimenting with who knows what he had gathered in his bag from a day of foraging. Those days, the young man thought intently, hand stopping midair from bringing a foul smelling concoction in contact with another. His green eyes would slowly travel to the window sill, taking in the sight of his peers – if you could call them that – playing below.

_What am I doing this for?_

Admittedly, the half Almyran youth was doing pretty well for himself. For a boy who lacked any close friends, Claude had developed a surprising level of charisma and a way with words befitting a future king. A cunning king, but a king nonethless, right?

At the end of the day, after he had impressed enough people in town to finally pass unscathed, Claude would return to his chamber and stare blankly at the mirror.

_What am I even doing?_

Somedays – often the bad ones – Claude would pinch at his skin, his ears, his _anything. _Anything to determine what exactly was wrong with him. Claude would stare deeply at his own reflection, desperate for answers. It was as if he hoped the Claude trapped in the glass knew better than he did. He would eventually click his tongue and shake his head, as if his reflection had told him a silly pun.

_It’s not worth it. _They’re_ not worth it._

“Good thoughts, good words, good deeds,” they told Claude when he was younger.

Of all the lessons that had been impressed upon him, Claude remembered this well. It was a message that tempered the ravaging flames in his chest that rose up each time someone – of Almyra or Fódlan alike – thought it wise to strike him down. It helped him lick his wounds on days he wanted to dip his face in homemade acid to see if it would make a difference.

Think good thoughts.

Speak good words.

Do good deeds.

_I can do that. Or… some of it. Maybe. _

For a boy whose heart was partially galvanized by many years of cruelty, doing all of it is a bit too much to ask for. Even then, for Claude, it was better than nothing. It was at least enough to solidify his decision to continue a path toward something better. 

Better for who, he was not quite sure yet.

The morning Claude was officially acknowledged as heir to House Riegan, he took one more look in the mirror before descending toward the great hall. Claude gazed at his reflection, eyes uncharacteristically solemn and somber. This was the day Claude will have made his first adult decision.

_I will deny half of myself if it means they would accept the other._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d like to think Claude’s scheming ultimately comes from a good place. A lonely place, but still good.
> 
> Once in a blue moon, I become gripped with hyperfixation. The blue moon rises and I love Claude lots. That said, there's more to this because 3H got me in a deathgrip. Byleth and the kiddos will come real soon.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading.


	2. The Last Time I Saw My Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you close your eyes, it's almost like we're the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, what started as a little character study spiraled into me writing self-indulgent filler content, because idk my soul needs some food.

At the first sight of the sun, the House Riegan convoy completed its preparations to deliver its heir to Garreg Mach Monastery. 

Although Claude had been officially christened the title for several moons now, the weightiness of his name as heir to House Riegan still felt foreign to him. As if to ease the young noble's apprehension, his parents had tried to assure him it was not too different from his title from the other side of the border. Not that he was prepared to carry that title either.

“Of Almyra or Fódlan, we’re all the same,” his mother said.

Claude mounted his steed and joined his men on the trek toward the center of Fódlan. Before long, the small group that had bid him farewell was reduced to pins of color bathed in the early morning sun. As they continued their journey, Claude felt an uncharacteristic wave of melancholy slowly rising.

“Yes, we are all human,” she assured him. 

—

Claude remembered the day she said those words clearly. He had been on horseback that morning too. That day, an immeasurable excitement bubbled inside him as his caravan crossed Fódlan’s Throat. Having only studied and regurgitated in self-study exams the history, flora, and fauna of Fódlan, his day of arrival was hard not to commit to memory. 

It was, unfortunately, not long before that excitement evaporated with the morning mist.  
  
While his brethren of Almyra spent years seeing Claude as the product of pure cowardice, it was within hours of his arrival to Leicester Alliance territory that rumors of a monster began to take shape. 

Claude gripped the reins of his horse in tempered annoyance, an emotion he surely hoped to bury at home in Almyra. Beside him, he felt his mother draw her steed closer to him. She placed a hand on his tightened fist, radiating warmth and something Claude could not identify.

“I’m sorry about all this,” she thought, but did not say. She did not have to. 

In that regard, Claude’s mother was a funny woman. 

She was not quite vocal, but was unapologetically so. She did not speak her beliefs, but used her actions to express them for her. She did not think twice – perhaps it was a waste of time – but when she _did_ think, she thought with deep intention. Or so she believed. The woman pursued love in ways only seen in novels – novels where the woman was seen as a blind fool. A fool she was, indeed. In her blindness, the woman could not see that her choices would one day brand her as a traitor. She would bear a child of oil, water, and bad decisions, branded as a beast from every corner.

It took all of her not to apologize to her son every day of his young life… but why apologize? Why shame a boy by confirming that his existence warranted forgiveness?

_Don’t apologize._

Claude set his free hand atop his mother’s.

He had to admit, it was his fault for being so presumptuous, believing that the people of Fódlan would be anymore accepting of outsiders than in Almyra. Then again, could you blame him? Claude’s initial exposure to Fódlan had been through his mother: a woman so blind with love that she had blurred the border lines completely. Fódlan or Almyra? It did not matter.

_If only they all saw the world like you._

“We are all just human, right?” Claude offered as he stared at his mother’s hand. 

He did not dare look her in the eyes.

“Yes.” 

As the caravan slowed safely into Derdriu, Claude vowed to create a world where the hushed rumors would silence, and the bloodshed among fellow men would dry. People would see each other as people, nothing more; just as his mother did. It was an ambitious goal, a pipe dream. If Claude could not manage it, he was going to do his damnedest and try. It was the very least he could do for a woman who loved herself blind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took absolutely every fiber of my being to not dunk myself in the garbage after writing this. But seriously, I felt like the little pieces about Claude's mother in his supports were sweet and I wanted to tie it in somewhere since it does bring his character full circle. 
> 
> To you, the reader: thank you for reading and your patience as I spiral off into the abyss. I move very slowly, but (most) everyone will join the party soon.
> 
> Next: Enter Edelgard, Dimitri, Claude, and the chapter that was SUPPOSED to be Chapter 2.


	3. The Children of Freud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Hozier_Take_Me_To_Church.mp3 plays in the bg]

“You _forgot_?” 

Claude did not know enough about the Officers Academy to know whether anybody had been kicked out before being officially accepted in. He was, however, painfully sure that he was speeding toward that direction at breakneck speed. 

He could see it in Seteth’s eyes.

With the smallest of glances, Claude shifted his eyes to his left, where two other students stood steely-eyed and serious.

“Perhaps we should retire for today,” Manuela proposed as she cleared her throat audibly, most likely to cut the tension radiating through the chamber. She could hear Seteth make an unholy noise of irritation beside her, but she would have to deal with those consequences later.

The Officers Academy faculty eyed each other slowly in collective assent. The Archbishop drew in a sharp breath and released it as delicately as she could. 

It was a greenlight.

“It seems some of us,” Seteth paused. “May need more time before we proceed.” 

“I will escort the students back to the dormitories for the day,” Hanneman volunteered. Manuela released the smallest huff of annoyance that the old man had beaten her to it. She had to escape the tension. 

Hanneman took his leave of the circle of instructors and ushered the three students out of the Audience Chamber. As the the group slipped out the door, Claude caught a sliver of the hushed tones floating among the faculty.

“All three clearly exhibit limitless potential. That cannot be denied. Easily the most talented group in ages.” 

“You know better than anyone that aptitude is but a solitary piece of what is required of a leader.”

“Perhaps it truly was an oversight on his part. Such a minor infraction can certainly be…"

“Minor?!”

“I mean no disrespect, but they are, first and foremost, children. Certainly the Goddess may forgive the momentary naïveté of a child.”

With that, the chamber door sealed shut.

—

Hanneman escorted the students only as far as the first landing before dashing back upstairs to rejoin the faculty. The three students began the long walk through the Entrance Hall toward the student dormitories on the far side. Despite not having been officially installed as House leaders, the three had already stirred enough attention to draw excited whispers. As the trio turned to the outer corridor, the white-haired girl broke free of her companions and took a hard stance before them.

While Claude had become relatively vigilant over the years – especially after training with an old geezer who would not hesitate to shoot him in his sleep, he did not expect to be hit by such a _strong _presence_. _The Adrestian Empire heir was a small one to be sure, but she stood her ground with such strength that she seemed ten feet tall. She glowed with a warmth in the setting sun. It was not, however, a warm radiance that embraced your soul tenderly. The heat was fierce; it took you in a vise grip with no room to breathe.

_Oh, this is going to be interesting._

“What is it that you’re playing at?” she asked with arms folded.

With a gamble, Claude turned his head. The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus prince returned Claude’s silent white flag with a shadow of amusement and raised eyebrows before returning his attention to Edelgard.

“Don’t play stupid,” the prince's eyes said.

_He knows _he’s_ not the one in trouble._

“Oh, I don’t know what you mean,” Claude managed to reply to the Empire heir. 

“The Rite of the Goddess is a critical piece to succeeding the role of House leader,” Edelgard started. “Even as someone whose bloodline has not stepped foot in this academy in ages, I would at least know _that._” 

“You realize that the Officers Academy is part of a_ monastery,_ don’t you?” Dimitri could not help but add.

“Yeah, I got that much,” Claude nodded simply. “I couldn’t get the church bells ringing out of my ears for the first few days.”

“Your obstinance is stalling an important process,” Edelgard huffed. “There are much more important things than your desire to act special straight out the gate.”

“Yeah, like what?” Claude asked, genuinely amazed that he had caused an uproar for not doing a simple ceremonial prayer.

Edelgard could not contain her disdain any further. 

“Look, I honestly don't care about any of this stuff either, but I will do it if I _have_ to. But if you don’t want to be a leader, just tell Lady Rhea.” It was amazing how much power she wielded without even raising her voice. “In battle, that mentality will get you killed. Perhaps it is a blessing in disguise that your ignorance has stalled the installation ceremony. Better give up now before your poor housemates inherit your bullheadedness.”

“Oh, they won’t,” Claude said with a small grin. “Have you met my housemates? Ignatz absolutely worships the Goddess, no pun intended.”

Certain that the Alliance heir was having too much fun with her, Edelgard marched off into the distance.

“And what about you, your Highness?” Claude asked as he turned his attention to the young blond beside him. “Going to lecture me about my faithless heathenism as well?” 

“Don’t call me that,” Dimitri replied in irritation. “In any case, we were clearly told days ago that we are mandated to do the Rite before the Archbishop prior to installation. It’s not something easy to forget.”

“And what if I told you that I really did forget?” Claude asked. “Just between you and me, I’m not exactly the holiest of men.”

“Then I would say you are letting your – what did you call it, ‘faithless heathenism’? – supersede your role as a leader.” Dimitri challenged, folding his arms in exhaustion. “Whether or not it is important to _you _is irrelevant if it is for the sake of your House and future people.” 

Claude paused a moment to meditate over his point. Dimitri had the unsung strength and power of a young noble in every word he said. However, unlike Edelgard, his words and stares were not burning with intensity. Everything about the Faerghus prince felt cool yet calming, and almost old. Speaking with Dimitri was like speaking to an aged king, as if the young man had lived too many lives before this one.

“What?” Dimitri said abruptly to break the unusual silence between them. In the short time they had to get acquainted, it struck the blond boy as strange that the Alliance heir finally stopped talking.

“That was a very... _princely_ thing for you to say.”

Dimitri stifled a laugh, unsure whether the comment was a compliment or an insult. “I only wish to sound like whatever it is that will keep my allies safe. You would be wise to do the same.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No, of course not,” the prince said with a casual stare at the orange-turned-fushia sky. It was almost nightfall. “There is no need to threaten someone who poses absolutely no threat to me.” 

The prince began his solitary walk back to the dormitories.

—

_Dear Goddess…_

_Wait, can you hear me? _

_I’m not quite sure how this works, so forgive me if I sound disrespectful. Trust me, I don’t mean to be._

_Lady Rhea said I had to bring myself before you in order to start as a House leader. Gain your blessings, she said. She’s standing right in front of me, so it’s not exactly easy to talk candidly like this…_

_Anyway, whether or not Edelgard and Dimitri believe me, I just wanted to let you know I _wasn’t_ avoiding you… or not _intentionally_ anyway. I just… I’m not sure what to say to you… or more like, I don’t know _how _to say it to you. You don’t typically go into someone’s house and tell them they don’t think they’re real._

_Again, I’m not trying to be disrespectful to you. It’s not just you. I can’t honestly say I believe in anything… That’s a bit bleak, huh? Perhaps that’s not really what I want to say. Well, it probably it is, I just wish I knew how to say that in a way that doesn’t offend you. If you think it is a sin to lie, I can at least say that I am not lying to you. Although, outright disbelief is probably a bigger sin than lying in the Church of Seiros, huh?_

_Lady Rhea is probably getting annoyed that I’m taking so long to pray, I can feel it. I _did _wake her in the middle of the night just to do the Rite, though she and Seteth actually seem pleased that I’m doing it at all. _

_Sorry, I’m getting too far from the Rite. I’m supposed to ask for your blessing._

_I just have to say that I can’t ask favors from someone I don’t believe can grant them. You know, put all my faith in something I don’t understand. I’ve read enough books to know the amount of blood that has been shed to protect you, and the hatred that still exists in Fódlan in spite of you supposedly being here. _ _I understand that you can’t protect everyone; nobody is that perfect… but everyone prays to you as if you are. Again, it’s nothing against Fódlan specifically. People all over pray to some higher power in hopes of something better._

_I suppose that the centuries of prayer haven’t amounted to much in my mind. We all still hurt each other, still hate each other… _

_Don’t get me wrong, _ _I have no place to tell your people what to believe in. My new housemates Marianne and Ignatz adore you, and they are wonderful people as far as I can tell. If you provide them something good to believe in, who am I to take that from them? _ _I just can’t say I feel the same way everyone else does._

_That said, I’ve probably offended you enough for the night. I hope you can understand where I am coming from. If not for my sake, for the sake of my House… for the Alliance… please... give them your blessing. _

— 

**Epilogue**

Kneeling at a pew on the other side of the cathedral, Marianne prayed for the safety of her newly established House leader, in hopes that her prayers will be enough to protect him from being struck by lightning simply for breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel that the Officers Academy must have some special ceremony for the House leaders outside of just being chosen and being part of the upper echelon of their respective regions... so that's my take on that.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading. Kudos and comments are always appreciated and make the process of writing all worth it.
> 
> Next: The Odd Couple


	4. The Odd Couple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Claude and Hilda achieve D support.

  * _Lysithea (SP) - well-rounded, smart; low stamina, best paired with high defensive counterpart; team compatibility: medium_
  * _Raphael (CR) - friendly, natural power; high stamina, best paired with LR or MR counterpart; team compatibility: high_
  * _Lorenz (MR) - fast, high weapon versatility; moderate stamina; probably hates me... _

  
Claude looked up from his sheet of notes. The Golden Deer leader rested his cheek on his knuckle as he pulled at the braid by his temple absently. 

It had been almost a full moon’s passing since the Officers Academy began its formal lessons. While Claude naturally expected to encounter all walks of life at the Academy, his housemates were certainly something special. However, “special” did not always translate into “combat ready”. While some – like Leonie – could skewer her target in a pitch black night, others like Ignatz desperately needed extra practice, understandable coming from a pure-hearted merchants' son.

Over time, Claude took it upon himself to keep notations on his fellow Deer in an effort to understand them. While he sometimes consider whether he was becoming too meticulous, he ultimately rationalized that it was all in order to rebalance the scales for their collective strengths to outweigh inherent weaknesses. Casual observations were easy to come by given the amount of training the students were given both in and out of the classroom. In the time he had spent with his new friends, Claude learned that Marianne was extremely capable when you gave her a clear instruction and time on her own. He learned that it was a crime to assume Ignatz could not one day shoot you in the heart simply because he had glasses on. 

He learned that Hilda… well, she was Hilda. That was all he could gather for now.

Be it during a simple class lecture, a dual, or a group skirmish, it was hard to nail down Hilda. It was difficult to tell where her strengths and weaknesses were when she was seen, more often than not, dictating those around her than doing work_._ At best, Claude knew Hilda could carry a weapon, nothing of how far she could throw it – even getting her to hold it was a miracle as far as the class was concerned. Her voice was always dangerously dipped in high-grade honey and yet it was clear she held no malice. She simply did not need to be fast if Lorenz got the takedown in her steed; she did not need raw strength when Raphael had more than enough power for the both of them. 

Where Claude preferred to balance power as evenly as he could, Hilda was equally adept at tipping scales almost exclusively in her favor. At any inconvenience, it was as if the girl disappeared into a shadow of doe-eyed manipulation never to show her true power. Over time, Claude became uncomfortably aware that he had seen a variant of those misty eyes before.

He had spent far too many mornings looking in those eyes in the mirror. 

They were not helpless, not foolish. Those eyes were smart, cunning, and surprisingly fearful.

_What are you afraid of?_

Perhaps it was not his place to know.

While the budding tactician was not prepared to admit he still knew nothing concrete about Hilda, he had to admit the pink-haired noble was turning out to be one of the most tactically talented students Claude had ever encountered.

It was frustrating to say the least.

—

“You know, we would probably be done with this task by now if we, oh, I don’t know… did it _together._”

Claude looked up at Hilda as he cast a weed to the far side of the grassy field. What began as the day’s seminar on basic axe techniques somehow ended in the two paired together for last minute chores before the weekend. While Claude’s initial reaction to the assignment was to feign illness and leave the task to Hilda, it was his opportunity to observe a shadow in the light.

“Hard pass,” Hilda said casually as she stared down at him. “Didn’t you ask to be paired with Leonie anyway? I can get her if you like.” 

“Can’t say I know what you’re talking about,” Claude responded with an absent glance to the sky. “If you want we can split the work. I can take this side and you’ll take the other.” 

“But it looks like you’ve got it all covered,” the pink-haired noble said sweetly. “Not really sure why they make weeding into group work when they’ve got strong guys like you on it.”

With a wink and a smile, Hilda retreated from the heat of the high noon and into the unknown. The Golden Deer leader shrugged and resumed his weeding in a slow square pattern, occasionally looking to see whether his partner would ever catch on. 

Predictably, she did not return.

—

“Claude!”

The door to Claude’s room vibrated with an earth-shattering bang as Hilda rushed inside. The Alliance heir shot up in his bed and gathered his sheets to shield himself. A series of books and papers fell from the bed as he wrapped himself from her view.

“Can you explain to me why I just got stopped in the hall for a 20-minute lecture?” Hilda cried as she tore the sheets from Claude’s grip. 

“I said we were going to split the work, didn’t I?” Claude yawned, half-asleep and half-amused. “You never actually refused… and plus, it’s not my fault you never came back to do your side of the lawn. By the way, can you keep it down? It’s late.”

“It’s four o’clock in the afternoon.”

“Time is relative in this room.”

“You’re ridiculous, Claude,” Hilda huffed as she took a seat on his wooden desk chair. “We barely know each other and you’re already one of the most infuriating people I’ve ever met.”

“Great, I’ll put that on my list of accolades for graduation.”

“What’s more, Professor Alois says you _asked _to be paired with me again to finish the weeding tomorrow morning. On a Saturday!” Hilda edged closer to her House leader, jabbing a dangerous finger to his chest. “What are you plotting?” 

“Oh, I’m not plotting anything,” the leader answered casually as he leaned his back against the wall. “I’m not _that_ smart.” 

“Don’t think I don’t see you scheming all the time.” Hilda narrowed her eyes. “You can’t fool me with your friendly airhead act.”

“First of all, ouch,” Claude smiled. “Second, takes a schemer to know a schemer, doesn’t it? I don’t buy your helpless flower act either.”

“So what then?” the pink-haired girl raised her eyebrows. “Going to play with me until you make me see my full potential? Prove to you all how strong I am?”

_No.  
_  
Claude laughed heartily as he placed a hand on Hilda’s shoulder. “Oh, Hilda, you give me too much credit. I just want to finish the weeding with my dear friend.” The Golden Deer leader straightened up. “Besides, I have no intention of making you see anything. I am but a student like you, not a miracle worker.” 

_You have to shed that skin on your own._  
  
“You are the worst.” 

“Yes, I know, thank you for confirming that,” Claude stretched his arms in faux exhaustion. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need my rest. We’ve got lots of work to do tomorrow, _partner._” 

—

**Epilogue**

“You know, Hilda, those guys all have a backup.” Claude said to Hilda as the pair crawled through the grassy courtyard. He watched as his fellow House leaders walked toward the dormitories, flanked by their respective vassals. “Dimitri’s got Dedue, Edelgard has Hubert… you want to be mine?” 

“Claude, if you ever ask me a question like that again, you’re going to be asking _them_ for backup.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: [raises #1 Teacher mug into the air]


	5. Welcome to the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Claude considers requesting a label-maker for his next birthday.

“Things are different out there.” 

It was as if every lesson – in the Academy or otherwise – was prefaced by some reminder that a weapon did not make you strong, that there was a whole different animal of power blind to youth. Whether it was a dig at their obvious inexperience or a good faith warning to remain on guard, it was undeniable that even law-abiding citizens like Dimitri appeared mildly exhausted by the gentle reminders that they were just children. 

On that day in the deep wood, the leaders did not need words to be reminded of their place in society.

The young woman swiftly defending Edelgard against a bandit’s blade was more than enough.

_Different, huh?_

—

When Lady Rhea announced that the mysterious mercenary in the wood was to become the latest addition to the Officers Academy roster, reactions ranged from excitement to outright confusion – though Claude did his best to keep that reaction from reaching his face too quickly. From a purely defensive standpoint, it was a natural choice to employ the daughter of the Blade Breaker among their ranks. However, it could not be denied that the stoic young woman was cut from a completely different cloth than those at the monastery.

Perhaps “different” was what Rhea needed.

_She is like a miracle made human._

Claude, unfortunately, did not have enough time to consider Rhea’s thought process regarding the new hire, as he felt the young woman’s soft yet unusually empty gaze on him. 

“A fine choice,” Rhea told her softly.

_What?_

“Claude, I take it that you will gather the Golden Deer to introduce the students to your new professor.”

In his role as the Golden Deer leader, Claude knew not to diminish the good work and reputation his house was developing. That did not stop him from being more than taken aback at the new professor’s decision to take leadership of the house. Claude cursed himself for having inherited his mother’s expressivity as his face contorted in an inelegant mixture of flattery, excitement, and alarm. His resulting expression drew a fleeting break in the mercenary’s face. Before the archbishop was able to scold Claude for his lack of decorum, the young man spoke up.

“Ah, yeah,” he stammered, personally surprised at the loss of his natural poise, “I’ll go get them now.” 

Claude turned away from the House leaders and faculty, and broke into a quick walk down the hall to gather his friends. As he quickened his pace toward the Golden Deer common area, a few straggling students retreating to their dorms could have sworn they saw the young man leap several feet into the air, clicking his heels together.

—

“If you need anything, you can count on me,” Claude said to her with a warm smile.

The woman called Byleth Eisner did not smile back.

It was clear from the start that the young professor knew exactly what the archbishop needed from her as an instructor. The Ashen Demon’s skill with blades – of which she had many – was overwhelming for someone who looked like she could be a student herself. One could have attributed her brilliance on the battlefield to good “parenting” by her father, but even then, it was breathtaking for Claude to see just how easily she maneuvered them into speedy victories. It was like art.

However, as the class reveled in their victories, the young professor still did not smile.

Marianne was the first to give their new teacher a pass, defending that perhaps not everyone was gifted with sociability. 

“Yeah okay,” Hilda said as the Deer filed out of the lecture hall, “but her face doesn’t move! Like a statue!”

“Hilda, your voice,” Lysithea warned with a tug on Hilda’s sleeve.

“You agree with me, don’t you?” the pink-haired girl whipped her head around for Claude’s affirmation, slapping Lorenz with the tips of her pigtails. 

“Hmm...” was all the Alliance heir could manage.

It was true that Byleth did not spare much time for theatrics in class or elsewhere for that matter, but what truly stumped Claude was exactly how wrong _and _right Hilda’s assessment was. The young professor prioritized imparting her knowledge unto the students, yet she was also surprisingly aware of herself in the way she did it. Byleth's demeanor never changed too much, but her ability to _reach_ people was a strength that nobody saw coming. Marianne did not fear her and Lorenz actually came to respect her. Being able to draw out the reclusive Bernadetta while also taming the wild mare that was Sylvain was enough to merit a trophy. Such a silent softness was rare, almost invisible. Claude soon realized that after her weeks of running marathons around the Academy, Byleth had pulled off a heist better than any bandit.

Without even a wisp of a smile, the Academy fell in love with the professor.

_That’s not normal._

—

Claude could see why Lysithea had occasionally run in terror from the library on particularly late nights: it was downright creepy. As someone who opted to barricade himself in a fortress of books in the comfort of his own room, the Golden Deer leader admittedly only spent pockets of time in the library during the day to return books or catch up with gossip among the other students.

If it were not for special circumstances, he would not be here. 

The leader ran his free hand through his hair and shook his locks of brown hair of raindrops from the midnight shower outside. 

Without warning, Claude found his free hand jerked from the crown of head and pushed forcefully against the center of his spine. He felt his attacker’s forearm press against the back of his neck, driving the side of his face against the worn wood of a library table. 

“Wait, wait!” Claude pleaded. “It's just me!”

Crash.

The empty library echoed with the sound of shattering porcelain. Claude slipped to the floor as the pressure against him lifted. Beside him, an agitated Byleth sat on the floor staring at the remnants of a flask, the contents of which were slowly making dark impressions into the floor and the edges of Byleth’s overcoat.

“What _are_ you doing?” the young professor cried as she patted the small burn holes on her coat down. 

“I’m... _so_… sorry,” Claude said slowly in utter terror. He placed a hand over his mouth and another on his forehead. His mind raced back to the hour before his night trek through the rain from the student dormitories to the library. 

_Spare cup._

_Pine needles._

_Hot water._

_Or was it water?_

“Explain yourself!” Byleth barked as she stood up, towering over Claude with arms crossed.

“You weren’t in your room and it was late at night and I don’t know, I…” the boy blurted in a panic. Claude took a deep breath and released it slowly for the sake of his heart. “I thought I’d find you somewhere like this and I guess I wanted to bring you some tea… since it was cold out.” 

“Tea?!” Byleth gestured to the steaming impressions left by the liquid.

“I said I'm sorry! I didn't mean to startle you!” Claude kneaded the bridge of his nose nervously. “I guess I need to label my things better...”

Byleth, whose face was dangerously stalled between pure exhaustion and murderous intent, could only glare at her student. She pulled herself into a nearby chair and lowered her head against the wooden table. Claude stared up at her in silent horror, waiting for her next move. 

“I knew I smelled something strange,” she muttered quietly through folded arms and a mess of tangled hair. 

“You’re a sharp one, Teach,” Claude remarked lightly until his attempt at a sunny disposition was hampered by another glare from the young professor. “Or maybe I’m just so used to concocting this stuff that it doesn’t bother me… not so good in this kind of situation, huh?” 

“Claude.”

“Sorry.” 

Claude grasped the edge of the table and lifted himself into the seat across Byleth. “Really, I’m sorry,” he repeated softly. “Seriously though, I did need to speak with you. Glad I was able to find you… uh, in light of my… yeah…” 

“It couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” Byleth asked as she continued to rest her head on the table.

“Well, once the week gets going, you _really_ get going,” the leader replied in compliment. “Just watching you tires me out sometimes, you know that, Teach?” 

“I never asked you to watch me.” 

“Oh, but I have to,” Claude said with a pinch of pride. “I know I’m just your student, but I’m still the leader of the Golden Deer.”

Slowly, Byleth straightened herself in the chair, pulling the ends of her hair to reveal the smooth line of her collarbone. Her hair fell back over her shoulders as she met Claude’s green eyes with her own.

_That’s a nice battle face, Teach._

“Well, _Leader_,” the professor began, “what business did you have with me that it couldn’t wait until the morning?”

The Alliance heir took a brief moment to glance at the library windows as they were pelted by soft raindrops. “I suppose we’ve never had a proper conversation.” 

“You tried to poison me.” 

“That was a mistake,” Claude ignored her last comment. “Honestly, I just wanted to check up on you.” 

“Is that all?” Byleth raised a curious eyebrow. “You see me everyday. Certainly you would know better than anyone else how I was faring.”

“Exactly,” Claude said with his pointer in the air. “You’re very hard to miss, what with your escapades up and down the Academy. It’s a wonder you haven’t died yet.” 

“I won’t die so easily,” Byleth interrupted, dead serious.

The young man brought a hand to his mouth to stifle a laugh. “I got that, don’t you worry, Teach.” Claude softened his gaze at the ever-stony faced woman before him. “I… _we_… worry about you.” 

“What are you trying to say exactly?” 

“If you think I’m saying your teaching game is off, you can put those worries to rest,” Claude began calmly.

You _should rest._

“I wasn’t lying when I said watching you can give me a massive headache,” he continued. “You’re doing so much for everyone: professors, other students… heck, you even do stuff for those guards standing outside the cathedral. That’s all in addition to teaching classes, no less… That’s got to be a heavy weight you’re carrying all the time. It’s like you get no sleep.”

“I’m used to that.”

“It looks lonely.” 

“I…” Byleth managed carefully, “It’s my job.” 

“You’ve chosen a very different job than I think you’re used to, Teach,” the young man remarked as he stared into her seriously. “For most of us – all of us maybe, this is our first time away from home for so long… it is certainly mine. That said, this is our home now; the Golden Deer, that is.” 

“I’ve never really had a place I called home,” Byleth said flatly. “I’ve always been moving around with my father as a part of work.”

“If it wasn’t already apparent the moment you chose to lead the Golden Deer, we’re a bit different_.._.” 

“And by ‘different,’ do you mean that Dimitri of the Blue Lions would not have laughed at me for choosing _his_ house?” Byleth interrupted with another raised eyebrow. 

_If that’s the only reaction I can get out of you for now, I’ll take it._

“I wasn’t _laughing_ at you,” Claude countered. “I was just… I was happy, okay?” 

At the corner of her eye, Byleth watched the young leader’s mouth curl into a contented smile. “We could be a rowdy bunch, but we'll do our best for you. When I said you can count on me,” he continued, “on us… I meant it.”

“I’ve been told that before,” Byleth admitted absently. “I may have just been raised to rely on myself and nothing else.” 

_Me too._

_You're like me._

“That’s good,” Claude replied ambiguously. “Just know that in the Golden Deer house, you’ll never be lonely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From that day forward, Byleth never had a single tea time with Claude. Ever.
> 
> Just a friendly notice, if you can’t already smell what I’m cooking up, this will be going down the S-Support F!Byleth ending.
> 
> To you, the reader: the sincerest thanks for all the comments, kudos, views, or whatever they may be. As always, your feedback is invaluable and you have my gratitude.
> 
> Next: (Actually, I might be going in a few different directions. Someone take the wheel.)


	6. [Paralogue] Highway to Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm.

_This is a literal placeholder, folks._

Hey Reader, I'm interrupting your regularly scheduled chapter to offer a mild deviation from where we're at. I considered jumping straight into timeskip territory, but it did not feel right given how much occurs before then. That said, this chapter will be broken into very brief pieces as a separate entity (Part 2 of this series) as it broke my brain just thinking of how to condense all the academy phase stuff into a single chapter. I also wanted some wiggle room to expand the narrative outside of Claude's development before jumping back into literal war.

It may not be _necessary_ to read that piece, but in case you were wondering where all this *development* came from in chapters to follow, it came from _somewhere_.

Take it as a paralogue of sorts. I'll be back here shortly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Son of the east, be careful what you wish for.


	7. The Song of Siddhartha (Side A: Departure)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goodbye, sweet youth.

Claude blinked back tears of pain as he watched the falling pillars of light devour the world around him. Flames and chaos threatened to swallow the young man and his allies whole. He struggled to shield his sight from the ashes and dust, but no relief came. 

Everything was red.

The Golden Deer leader summoned all his strength to rally the house. He sucked in the acrid ashes and called into the sky, but no words came – or perhaps they did: they were just burned whole like everything else. Claude clutched his bow in a bloodstained fist and brought it to his heart, slowly realizing what the true terror of war felt like. 

_Where are you?_

Desperation ran through his veins as he scanned the carnage for any semblance of soft green.

_Where _ _are _ _you?_

Everything was red.

—

It was apparent that sadness and rage threatened to consume Seteth as he brought word that the Officers Academy, along with the activities of the Church, would no longer continue. It was a strategic move and just as well. With Garreg Mach in ruin, it was scandalous for anyone to expect the Church of Seiros to stand. 

The students of the Academy had little time to lick their wounds before being politely encouraged to return to home. While Claude knew that this too was a logical decision for Seteth to maintain what loyalties remained in the Kingdom and the Alliance, he could not help feeling that the disbanding of the Academy was the most difficult pill to swallow.

_Home._

Miraculously, parts of the Academy withstood the havoc of the Flame Emperor. Most students seemed to have abandoned their belongings altogether in the hurry home as only a handful returned to the campus. The stairwell to the second floor dormitories was largely unscathed, Claude noticed as he made his way to his quarters before his departure back to the Leicester Alliance. 

_This was home._

The Alliance heir’s mouth broke into a wry grimace as he looked around his room. Stacks of books and empty glass flasks slightly charred from over-experimentation populated the space – items that would more likely be a nuisance than a necessity where he was going. Draped on Claude's desk chair were the tattered remnants of his House leader’s cape. With a slow inhale, he placed a steady hand over the soft gold and brought the rags to his chest.

“You look ridiculous,” Hilda laughed the day he was installed as the Golden Deer leader. “Why’s it so _short_? Dimitri and Edelgard's look much more leader-ly, y’know?” She continued to fiddle with the golden flap at his back until they split to their respective dormitories that night.

“Yeah, I know,” Claude choked as he clutched the golden cloak to his chest. 

As he folded the fabric lovingly into his box of now useless belongings, his mind threatened to question whether he ever eventually stacked up against his fellow Fódlan noble leaders. As quickly as the thought came, Claude shook the doubt from his mind. Despite the age-old feud imposed on them long before any of them entered the Academy, Claude held no animosity toward either of the leaders, whether they believed it or not. If anything, the House rivalry fueled a healthy fire for the Alliance heir to further dreams he shared only with the Almyran midnight. 

_They were my friends._

It was a personal failure, Claude believed, that he let any force –magical or otherwise– so easily take away what he had worked so hard to create. He was supposed to be ready for anything. Anything... and yet.

_What kind of leader am I?_

Claude moved to clear the contents of his tabletop, which was crowded by sheets of equations, diagrams, and charts messily scrawled in two colors.

Black for Claude.

Green for Byleth.

_My friend._

“Why green, Teach?” He asked her one night in the library. They had both concluded that team planning was much too complicated with them both writing frantic notes in the same color, eventually staining whole parchments black as night.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Byleth replied playfully as she twisted a lock of very green hair. “Plus, you’ll be _green_ with envy once you realize that those ten step schemes you’ve been cooking up can be easily achieved in five or less.” Claude stifled a laugh as the professor looked strangely proud of herself for having spent too much time around Alois.

_Where are you?_

After having unconsciously ordered the stack of papers in chronological order, Claude tied a thin braided rope around the parchment stack and packed it tightly with his memories.

—

“The convoy back to Alliance territory must be made no earlier than midnight to minimize visibility from the Empire's eyes,” Seteth advised the remaining Golden Deer at nightfall. It was not until their day of departure that the Deer were informed that their classmates to the north had already left long ago for the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus under Dimitri’s urgent command. 

_Goodbye, your Highness._

Claude shut the door to his dormitory with finality and dragged his weathered wooden chest to the first landing. If not for the speckles of dusty blond in Raphael’s hair, the young leader barely could make out his towering figure in the Fódlan night. 

“Sorry it’s late notice, but thanks for helping me bring all my stuff home,” Claude said as he dropped his chest to the ground. “Call me sentimental, but there are just some things I can’t part with.” 

_Home._

“Think you can take care of this for me, big guy?” he instructed with a friendly clap on Raphael’s forearm. “It’s pretty big, but I need you to make it into the cargo before they seal it up tonight.” 

“You don’t usually underestimate me, Claude,” Raphael said with a soft smile. “You can count on me.”

“Never doubted it,” Claude nodded in affirmation before turning a heel toward the abandoned corridors. 

“Wait, we’re leaving…” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be there! If I’m not there, stall them!” The young man called as he broke into a run. “I have something I need to take care of!” 

Claude's footsteps echoed through the pitch black halls as he disappeared toward the cathedral in his last act as the Golden Deer leader.

—

_Dear Goddess, don’t tell me you’re not there._

Claude stepped over the fresh rubble at the cathedral’s altar. Sorrowful moonlight bathed him where he stood, as if to cleanse him. Unfortunately, not even the night he grew to love so much could restore what had been taken from him. 

_Tell me, Goddess, i__s this it? __Is this your idea of a joke? __Are you angry? __Does your divinity know so little mercy that you had to take everything away? _Everyone_ away?_

_Just who are you punishing?_

_Is it me?_ _Has this stranger sinned against you so much f__or having stepped into your homeland? For dishonoring you? For not believing in you? _

_Or perhaps because you think I've made a goddess of my own? Have I insulted you so much because I've searched for something to believe in when you were right in front of me? _ _Are you upset I tried to create a god? _

_Was I too selfish?_

“Answer me!” The Alliance heir called into the hole in the ceiling, his raspy cry echoing into the night.

_It's true. I believed in something… some_one_ that could help me see a world I’ve always dreamed of._

_I will never stop believing._

_If this is your punishment, then I will take it._

_But I will never stop believing in her._

_Never._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I planned this piece a while back (when this fic was just like one chapter???), but now that I’m actually ~writing~ it, it’s coming at an ironically difficult point in my personal life. That said, it’s a strangely cathartic experience, albeit still hard for me.
> 
> Next - Side B: Return (or That Five Year Fic because... yeah. That Happened.)


	8. The Song of Siddhartha (Side B: Return)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fragments of a dear friend and years of war blend like a nightmare on repeat.

The first time Claude arrived in Derdriu, the port city was bathed in light. At the time, there was something downright magical about the way the midmorning sun illuminated the water, and how the moon carried that same ethereal glow deep into the night. The scents of the city’s surrounding saltwater gripped young Claude with an uncontested ferocity. The new land was ready to be seized by fresh hands, or so he was led to believe. 

“This land will, one day, be yours to rule,” he was told. 

_This is what I wanted, wasn’t it?_

As Claude made his return to the aquatic capital, the port’s old lights still glowed in the deep Fódlan night as if they had been waiting for him all this time. While the saltwater laced the air just as he had remembered, it did not captivate Claude as it once did. Instead, the nostalgia raced through him viciously and seeded itself at the pit of the noble’s stomach. Claude clenched a fist over his abdomen, hoping that the strange and intense pain would subside.

“I think I’m going to die, Teach,” he breathed melancholically into the night as he gripped the reigns of his steed. 

“You reap what you sow,” Byleth groaned at him one day in his memories.

The professor edged her way into Claude's dormitory only far enough to watch the young man dangle dangerously from the side of his bed. The pitiful leader held what Byleth hoped to be an empty porcelain urn to his face. 

“You came to give me work on my deathbed? I knew it – you _are_ as cold as you look.”

“No, I’m just not as stupid as you act,” Byleth retorted. The professor dropped a thick stack of notes on the table beside her. “For someone so smart, stupidity is not an excuse to miss my class. Learn to label your poisons properly or quit the crazy schemes.”

As if on cue, Claude shuddered as he released particularly strong dry cough. Byleth stood unfazed by the sight with a casual eyebrow in the air. If the young leader did not know any better – and perhaps he didn't, he could have sworn she was enjoying it. 

“Noted,” he breathed in defeat.

“Good. I can’t have my leader dying on me, can I?”

“We have arrived,” a stern voice said from beside Claude, accompanied by a hand on his shoulder. The Alliance heir raised his head and squinted in the darkness to see a small crowd gathered to welcome him at what he vaguely recalled as House Riegan. As Claude made a slow dismount onto the pavement, he swallowed his demons and replaced them with a smile as he often did.

“Welcome home,” someone said to him distantly. 

“Teach, I really think I’m going to die.” 

—

“It’ll look good on you.”

“Yeah, sure.” 

A line of tailors filed into the circular room, their arms buried in seas of fabric and tassels. One by one, they bowed their heads respectfully as they took their positions on either side of Claude. The tailors’ hands hovered hesitantly over their house heir as he narrowed his eyes at Judith.

“What, would you like me to leave?” Judith asked. “Please, boy. I’ve seen enough men for five lifetimes.”

The Alliance commander burst into laughter at the looks of horror that washed over the room. 

“You haven’t changed at all,” Claude groaned. With a wink and a hand on his shoulder, Judith slid out of the room. 

Armed with scissors and lengths of measuring ribbon, the tailors bustled around Claude hurriedly. They nodded and hummed at each other for several minutes before allowing a silence to fall among themselves.

“We believe this shall do just fine,” said a middle-aged tailor finally. She placed her bundle of gold at his feet, and her peers slowly followed suit. “We shall give you your privacy, young master. We hope these are to your liking,” the group said in unison before departing. 

With the door safely shut, Claude began to unfasten the Academy uniform he had unconsciously put on that morning. While there were few things someone so unpredictable did routinely, it was almost sad how dressing in uniform had fallen into that category. Luckily, having just arrived from the monastery was excuse enough to pass the mistake off as a simple lack of clothes.

The young leader stared intently at his reflection in the mirror before him as he stripped his skin off the layers of black and gold. Claude dropped the black layers to the ground with an embarrassingly wistful smile. He silently spoke his graces to nobody that everyone around him had the foresight to leave him alone – albeit for the wrong reasons – as he removed the only skin he had finally become comfortable in. 

_What will become of you now?_

Claude folded his former self carefully and veiled himself in his new one. The detail and embroidery was quite beautiful, he had to admit as he wrapped the thick sash around his waist. He fastened the cape of gold over his shoulder and let the fabric drape down his back. Claude stared curiously at a pair of dark leather gloves that accompanied his new regalia. 

“They’re just not my style,” Claude said to himself in the mirror.

“You may want to let style save you sometime,” Byleth told him with a pair of training gloves in her hands. She watched as the Golden Deer leader nursed several deep cuts on his fingers after a particularly close encounter with demonic beasts.

“No way. I like having a _personal_ touch on my handiwork, if you know what I mean,” he told her unconvincingly with a wince of pain in place of a wink.

“I really don’t,” she replied flatly. “Just don’t blame me when those flaming arrows you’ve been testing backfire. You’ll be wishing you trusted my judgment.”

“You’re not fun at all, you know that?” 

Claude ran a hand over the fresh black leather and slid his hands inside. A look of expectant dissatisfaction crossed his face as he flexed his hands open and closed. 

“Fine, I trust you,” he said solemnly into the gloves like a prayer. “Are you happy now?” 

Even after several alterations and blood testimony that the sizing was just right, something about the uniform still felt wrong – what it was, Claude could not quite place. Despite himself and with a small sigh of defeat, Claude pushed his nagging further to the back of his mind and summoned Judith to take in the new face of Alliance leadership. 

—

“Blood alone does not give him license to put our kin in the line of fire.” 

“Agreed… Though, arrogance becomes beasts like him.”

_Ah, _this_ again._

“Old house loyalties can last only so long.” 

“That is _enough._” Judith slammed her hand before the Alliance Roundtable. The faces of Alliance leaders curdled as the commander allowed the ferocity in her eyes to remain. 

“It’s fine,” Claude said crisply. “There is much more important work to be done here.” The Alliance leader stole a brief glance at the window, only just realizing that the sun had gone down. “However, it may be in the best interest of us all to reconvene another day.” 

The men of the Roundtable exchanged glances of exhaustion that soon crumbled to assent as each one rose from their place at the table. Claude shook each of their hands warmly as they departed, partially to maintain civility and partially to assert himself through one last act of cheekiness for the day – not that they knew.

“Duke Goneril, give Hilda my regards,” Claude whispered as he grasped the duke’s calloused hands on his way out. “She hasn’t written me back yet, but then again, I expect nothing less.” 

“Of... course?” Holst said in mild confusion as he disappeared through the double doors.

Claude released a long exhale and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “After a few years, you would think they’d have grown tired of this dialogue,” he remarked with a wry grin. “Thanks by the way.” 

“Unfortunately, they got one thing right: old loyalties can only go so far during times of war. I know that far too well. You’ll learn soon enough that maintaining your allies can be as monumental a task as suppressing your enemies.” Judith rose from her seat at the table. “Anyway, I must prepare for tomorrow. I will be meeting with informants investigating rumors of Imperial forces at dawn.” 

She knitted her eyebrows at how small Claude looked before her – a rarity. “I am the last person to want to feed your ego, but know that you have done more in your time in that chair than anybody could have anticipated.” Judith drew in a sharp breath. “However, some of these old crows will need much more than charisma and clever schemes for them to bow to you.” 

Judith slapped Claude hard on the shoulders, signaling her own departure. “Don’t let that shake the work you’ve already done. Make no mistake: you have, for the most part, won over this Alliance. Your supporters far exceed your critics. Just don’t make them regret it, boy. I don’t like being wrong.” Judith added as she disappeared behind the double doors of the chamber.

_Please don’t call me that._

_Not anymore._

Though Claude always placed a funny reverence in the Hero of Daphnel, the nickname seemed to age with a bitterness he could not handle – a name of affection rotted into insult with time.

Claude knew that there was nothing more left to do that night, lest he wanted to consider tactics with shadows into the night. As he prepared to take his leave, Claude ran a hesitant hand over his seat at the Leicester Alliance Roundtable. The old wood always smelled of responsibility and death. Long before he took his place as leader, Claude did not have to sit in the chair to know it was much too deep, much too tall for him.

_Am I a boy or a man? _

“Make up your mind already.” Claude’s knees buckled dangerously, dropping him to the floor. 

_Am I fit to lead?_

“Is that a chink in your armor I see?” Byleth said from behind him. 

The night before facing the Flame Emperor, even the calmest of people found themselves restless. Each of them coping the best they could with the looming disaster to come, Claude chose to seek solace in a place nobody – himself included – would think to find him: the cathedral. The young leader sat at the balcony of the west entrance, drinking in what he did not realize would be his last night of peaceful starlight.

“Since when did you get so cheeky?” 

“My house leader can’t seem to shut up, so it seems to have rubbed off on me,” the professor said sheepishly as she climbed onto the ledge beside him. “Move over.” 

“Everything changed so much, so quickly.” Claude said absently.

“Will you kill her if you have to?” 

Claude whipped his head around to face Byleth in shock, having never gotten used to how directly the professor made her business. “At this point, I only want to keep everyone safe,” he replied ambiguously. “I suppose that won’t be good enough, in the long run.” 

“Who knows?” 

“You know, we all came to the Academy to prepare for this war, but maybe I was having too much fun to realize we’d eventually come to this point one day… or maybe I knew all along and chose to ignore it.” 

“You always were much less mature than everyone else.”

“Are we really going to do character assassinations tonight, Teach?”

“What would you like me to say?” Byleth huffed. “You always tell me about these massive dreams of yours, spend half your time scheming and planning. Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet now that the time has come to put all that work to use.” 

“Tell me, Teach, do you think I can do this?” Claude asked seriously. “Can I _really_ be what they need me to be?” 

“Excuse me... I’m sorry for disturbing you, young master. I was not aware you were in conference.” 

Claude looked up from his place on the floor to find a bewildered housekeeper peeking through the conference room’s double doors with a lantern and broom in tow. Flustered that he did not hear the door open, the Alliance leader stood up and conjured as much dignity as he could muster.

“Oh, I’m not. I’m just finishing up here,” Claude said nervously as he gathered his notes from the table. “Don’t mind me, I will be leaving soon. Please rest well.” 

“A good night to you as well.”

Delirious with embarrassment, Claude began the solitary walk back to his quarters. 

_I can’t keep meeting you like this._

“My friend, you brought out the best in all of us, and in me.” Claude called into the night sky as he continued down the cobblestoned path. “The best of us all is what I need now.”

_Where are you?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Just going to randomly drop in the fact that I liked that Claude's Academy phase design was barehanded.)
> 
> Blah blah I’m a broken record, I know, but hear me out. Again, from the bottom of my heart, your kudos, comments, and just whatever… I appreciate all of it. Sharing what I’ve got to give to you is one of the greatest parts of my week and my year overall, so I’m humbled to share this with you each chapter. 
> 
> Next: Vacation, all I ever wanted.


	9. The King of Wishful Thinking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, halcyon days.

_The years are going by so quickly. _

_I wish you were here to see it._

_… _

_Just kidding. _

_It would have made you sick. _

—

Of the few perks of being in a position of power, freedom was potentially the most difficult to come by and rightly so. The tides of war raged much more relentlessly than even the most jaded of generals could have anticipated, leaving little room for leisure. However, when the imaginary gods of fortune presented Claude with a window of opportunity, he allowed the spirit of his younger self pull him back into his old mischievous ways. Leaving with the earnest promise to return in haste, Claude seized his occasional moments of freedom in the shadows and on the back of his wyvern. 

“Selfish, I know,” he said to her. “But it’s a fair trade.” 

While the more diplomatic side of Claude was well aware that abandoning his post even momentarily in the midst of war was not only an abuse of privilege, but highly irresponsible, he quickly reasoned that if the Alliance were to survive another day against the Empire, its leader needed to maintain his sanity. 

For Claude, this meant hanging onto a bond deeper than blood. 

As the Golden Deer were given more than a year at the Academy to cope with their leader’s antics and eccentricities, when Claude came randomly swooping into town on the back of a beast to seek out his companions, even the most dutiful of the Deer could not help but break into a smile. These meetings came much less often than any of them wanted, another unfortunate consequence of war and time. This held truer for some than others. By default, Claude was not as duty-bound to interface with commoners, prompting him to put more effort in his attempts to see the likes of Leonie or Raphael. Similar effort had to be put in to even glimpse those, like Lysithea or Marianne, who were laying low. 

“You look well,” Marianne managed shyly from her window, tucking a stand of hair behind a crown of braids and ornamental hairpiece. 

“As do you, very well,” Claude said with a low bow from his midair steed. “I’m glad.” 

“Hilda sometimes tells me about what has been going on. She says you’re oddly good at your job.” He wrinkled his brow at just how funny Hilda could be: resistant to compliment him even to other people. 

“I’m sorry I cannot do more than this.” Marianne’s tore her gaze from his, reminiscent of the girl he met five years ago. “These are hard times and I…” 

“Letting me drop in like this is enough,” Claude interrupted as he looked into the horizon. “Oh, dear. It looks like my time’s up.” 

Each meeting with Claude had its own special touches, but they were all the same in the end: few and far between with conversations always a bit clumsy. A heavy, desperate air hung between the words exchanged between the Deer, and thy name was Byleth. From Marianne’s floral hairpiece to the way far away noises prompted Ignatz’s brow to twitch and shoulders to stiffen ever so slightly in vigilance, it was clear that each of them carried a piece of their teacher like a treasure or a scar.

_It’s like you’re everywhere._

_Except where I need you to be._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: D-day.


	10. One Hundred Years of Solitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes two.

It was well-known fact that entering the formerly sovereign sanctum of Garreg Mach given the current landscape was the equivalent of a death wish. The Church and its monastery had long since been in shambles and become a hive for bandits. Moreover the looming possibility of crossing paths and blades with his former colleagues left a bitter taste in Claude’s mouth long enough to keep him far away. The day of what should have been the Millennium Festival was the only exception, for there was still an immature teenage boy living inside Claude that would have happily fought hordes of bandits for a single chance to seize something, someone that most sane people believed would not be there anymore. 

Five years did not do the monastery kindly, but there were thankfully still many standing spires and towers available for Claude to house his wyvern as he made his way toward the Goddess Tower.

“I’m not coming back empty-handed,” he told his wyvern as he nuzzled his forehead affectionately against hers. 

There was no easy way up the Goddess Tower except through what felt like an eternity’s worth of steps spiraling to the top. While the walk up the tower made an excellent space for solitude, Claude very quickly realized that being left with only the cacophony of his unsteady heartbeat and racing thoughts was far from excellent. A strategist by design, a myriad of possibilities raced through Claude’s bank of calculations as he ascended, each thought growing more desperate than the last. 

_Nobody talks about you anymore. It’s not even like you’re dead, though let’s not go down _that_ road. But sometimes I wonder if you were even real. __Were you… real? _

_No._

_Because you were real to me. _

_You were real, I know you were. _

_You _are_. _

Claude paused to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration that he was not only fulfilling his role as the Leicester Alliance’s resident heretic, but as a complete madman. Thankfully, warm rays of sunlight began to break through the tower’s dreary walls, signaling his arrival to tower’s spire. Once a beautiful view from the top had corroded into rubble as far as Claude’s tired green eyes could see. He gripped the edge of the wide window, waiting for his proverbial guillotine to drop.

_Say, what do you look like now? Do you look the same? I hate to say it, but sometimes I can’t remember what you looked like. Maybe that’s why I kept seeing you, looking for you in everything. _

_In my dreams._

_In other people._

_I didn’t want to forget you._

A distant, rhythmic echo from the stairwell shook Claude from his stupor of rampant thoughts. If it was possible to feel utter dread and excitement at the same time, he certainly did not recommend it. The whirlwind of emotion was toxic, enough to render him completely breathless. Still dazed, it was not long before green eyes were met with the soft green waves of a ghost.

_Uh…_

For someone who developed a reputation as a master tactician, Claude had to mentally kick himself for not having thought such an important moment through. 

_Do I hug her? _

_Is that weird?_

He quickly recalled Academy days where he had attempted as such, often met with her hands shoved in his face or a sharp tug at his temple braid. It was a bad plan, Claude determined.

_Wait, what if she’s an imposter? _

_Maybe I should try..._

Sickened by his complete loss of composure, Claude retreated to his most trusted strategy – the single thing he did when he was backed into a corner, this time by his own chaotic thoughts.

Claude smiled.

“You overslept, Teach!” He said a bit too jovially. It was a peculiar feeling: as the words slipped from his mouth, Claude was certain he was going to vomit from the tension. However, as if his body had entered autopilot, the words just kept… coming.

_What am I saying?_

“Pretty rude to keep a fella waiting like that, wouldn’t you say?” 

Familiar banter continued to drip effortlessly from Claude’s lips in a voice he did not recognize. It was almost astonishing how the same man previously anguished by anticipation was able to serve banter with a level of bravado so confident and sure. 

_Why are you putting your defenses up so high?_

It was a dangerous dance with irony to sound so _normal_, as if the woman he had wished on all the stars for had just returned from a simple walk. As if he wanted nothing more than to show her how strong he had been without her. 

“Everything is fine,” he did not dare say as he invited her to the battlefield. 

He was not _that_ good a liar. 

— 

The stars aligned.

Or so Claude believed as he watched his colleagues appear one by one on the battlefield like the dream he’s had for one thousand years. The dull clanging of blades that once plagued the Alliance leader’s tenure vibrated with a fresh vigor he had not felt in years. The battle at its core was a simple skirmish against petty bandits, yet meant so much more. Each spell cast, each arrow shot, a single note in a symphony the Deer had each kept saved for just one night. Somewhere deep in Claude’s memory, a small boy in Almyra picked at old wounds and wept to the night wondering whether he would hear that same song.

_You’re not alone anymore._

—

Fevered with nostalgia and the agreement to call Garreg Mach home again, Claude found his arm hooked around Byleth casually as he only dared to do after the best days in the past. “It’s not much of a welcoming party,” he began nervously, hoping to the heavens he was not dancing with one of Lysithea’s ghosts. “But let me take you to tea. For old time’s sake.”

“Isn’t that usually my role?” the professor replied. A warmth dropped at the pit of Claude’s stomach; it was unbelievable how perfectly her words fell into the spaces she left unknowingly behind.

_… I missed this._

“If you haven’t already noticed, my friend,” he said, testing the old name on his tongue. “Times have changed.” 

It was a half-baked plan, Claude thought in retrospect as he guided his teacher through the Academy ruins. Having not explored the monastery himself before that day, he was relieved to find a familiar guilded tea table in the garden. The table had clearly seen better days, almost completely engulfed by weeds and overgrown shrubbery. The pair nevertheless perched themselves across each other on the rusted iron chairs. 

The two sat under the stars in relative silence, or at least Claude hoped so. The sound of his heart hammering could not have been _that_ loud, could it?

“There’s no tea, is there?” Byleth asked flatly as she continued to stare a hole into the table.

“You caught me,” the young leader replied sheepishly. “Really though, I may not have thought this one through.” 

The professor’s forehead wrinkled as she lifted her eyebrows in mild amusement. “I was going to say you never change, but you seem so _different_,” she commented with a tilt of her head and a scratch of the chin.

_And you’re _exactly_ the same. _

“And how should I take that?”

“It wasn’t meant as an insult,” Byleth assured him. “It’s just that… you’ve grown up.” Another ambiguous comment, but telling enough that part of young Claude’s heart chipped at the sound. 

“We all did,” Claude sighed in resignation before he could stop himself.

_We had to._

If the Byleth from the Tower was some kind of insane apparition, she at least loosened his inhibitions enough to mimic the real thing. Like in the dreams and delusions he’s had of her thousands of times before, Claude began to unpackage for the professor the unfortunate affairs of Fódlan. Despite the conversation’s bleakness, there was a faint sweetness and satisfaction that lingered after each word. It was bad enough having spent weeks, months, and years crying to the moon about the weight of living, but at least now, the Alliance leader could air his grievances to ears he always trusted to listen. 

_I wanted to tell you so many things._

A dutiful professor to the core, Byleth’s face crumpled in discomfort as Claude brought her up to speed. While her sorrowful gaze was a comforting testament that the professor before him was indeed the real thing, it was nonetheless difficult for them both to spend the night discussing the reality that the friends they made have been, and will continue to be, crossing swords. 

Exhausted on two different planes – physically from battle, emotionally from everything else, the pair rose from the table lazily to retire for the night. “Thank you for keeping me company,” Claude managed after a long silence between them. Stewing in the grim fate of Fódlan was too exhausting to do alone. “Yours was one I truly missed,” he added clumsily. 

Before Byleth had a chance to respond, Claude stepped forward to close the gap between them.

_Have you always been this small?_

With arms wrapped around her familiar frame, Claude buried his face in her waves matted of hair. His face wrinkled affectionately as she smelled faintly of dirt and sweat, and that’s how he knows she’s real. In his dreams, her hair was always soft and smelled of herbal tea. Too kind to break his spirit in two or too aloof to say anything else, she remained in his embrace with no argument.

“Spare this madman a moment, my friend,” he whispered into her over the sound of his heart breaking. “I’ve waited much too long.” 

_Pathetic little thing, aren’t I?_

In mercy, the two stood together for what one could have considered too long if it had not been over five years since they were last in the same vicinity. 

“Claude, are you…?” Byleth began as she looked up at him.

_Crying?_

“Nope,” he croaked. To preserve whatever fragments of dignity remained, Claude made the adult decision to push away first. She was still staring a hole into him – he hated that so much. 

“Hmm? Is my face really that interesting?” He attempted, reminiscent of their first words together. “Captivated by my good l–” 

Slowly, Byleth raised a gentle hand and traced a fine constellation from cheekbone to the edge of his jawline. “You _really_ did grow up,” she said somberly, touching the side of his face where his signature braid used to hang. 

“Don’t worry,” he sighed, easing his cheek into the base of her palm. “It’s still me in there.”

_Somewhere._

“Can I say something?” 

_Oh, please don’t._

“You smell different.” 

“Becoming even more handsome can do that to you, I hear,” he laughed loftily, knowing exactly what she meant: it was _not_ because he was handsome.

_It’s the smell of blood, isn’t it. _

Even before assuming his role at the Leicester Alliance, Claude prided himself in using tactics not only to decrease work for Hilda – as it was the only way she’d do anything at all – but to decrease collateral damage of any and all conflict. Unfortunately, it was much easier to lessen the number of moves to win a chess match than to decrease the body count of a war. Over time, crimson flowers staining Claude’s uniform became commonplace, yet even then, he had never gotten used to it. 

As a man well known for seeking methods of least confrontation, it was an unfortunate scent. It was a sign that it was impossible for everyone to be saved. “I had no choice,” Claude murmured in defeat.

“I know.”

“We never had a choice,” he added quietly.

“I can’t recall whether you were always this much of a nihilist.” 

“Neither can I.”

It was unnerving for them both how his humor had become several shades darker.

“Hey, don’t look so sad, my friend,” Claude said with a soft smile. “Today was a great day – one of many to come. I know it.”

“I know.” 

“Welcome home.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A friend told me to fuck the police, so I did and will continue to do so. *throws on stunner shades*
> 
> Anyway, it was funny to me how well-adjusted Claude was post-timeskip… like… that is the most abnormal reaction of them all and that made me Feel Some Things.
> 
> This took much longer to pump out for no other reason than me just having a grade A bad week. As always, I’m supremely grateful for everyone’s support and sweetness in the form of kudos, comments, and such. It’s priceless, really it is.
> 
> Next: In the end, they were all sinners.


	11. Third Eye Blind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The enemy of my enemy was my friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is a good time to mention that I’ll be writing the pieces from here on out through the perspective of a Verdant Wind run where nobody is recruited away from their original houses.

“…” 

“… suspicious…”

“… yeah.” 

Shady. Dubious. They all used to be words like the others. However, years of endless delivery from different sets of lips only sharpened the blade and aged the words bitterly like bad wine. No matter the dialect, the words were always the same going down: angry and ugly. They used to render young Claude paralyzed and utterly sick – of others, of his parents, of himself? Who knew? 

Because he certainly did not.

“… Claude…?”

The familiar voice was drowned out by the murmuring crowd of students leaving the training ground changing room. The gaggle of students gradually evaporated before Claude like morning mist, leaving only the head of the Blue Lions standing before him.

“Mmm, mmm mmm?” The young Deer muttered, a small golden fastener secured between his pursed lips. He wove the longer strands of his still damp hair into an artful braid and locked it shut with gold. “Whoops, sorry about that. Did you say something?” 

“Oh, uh, no… well…” the prince replied sheepishly, prompting a small grin to form at Claude’s lips. Dimitri’s typical public demeanor was one all too fitting of the heir to the Holy Kingdom: eloquent, dignified, and chivalrous. So it was doubly amusing – at least to Claude – when a chink in the persona presented itself without warning, husking the blond into the slightly awkward boy he probably always was. 

“How do I say this…” Dimitri lowered his gaze and attempted to choose his words carefully. “I’m not sure if you heard what those students were _saying_ about you, but…” 

“Sure I did,” Claude interrupted nonchalantly, his hands folded behind his head. “I was there.”

“Oh,” Dimitri paused, perhaps under the assumption that the conversation would have taken a different route. “…Doesn’t it… bother you?” 

Having spent endless years being looked down on as nothing more than suspicious and transient, young Claude gradually learned to bitterly embrace his assigned identity with a joke and a smile. In time, the Alliance youth had mastered the art of the poker face against commonplace insinuations of mistrust. 

“No, not really.” Claude answered in a voice cushioned in what he hoped sounded like certainty.   
  
_Yes, of course it does._

“Why should it?” He added with a laugh. “They’re probably right, you know.” 

_They’re wrong_.

“Well, personally, I don’t see it.” Dimitri said firmly. “I think they’re wrong about you.”

It was truly unfortunate that it was not an insult, but a counterargument to one that registered to Claude as an anomaly. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Your Highness,” he said with a casual, unconvincing smile.

“I'm serious,” Dimitri started with eyebrows knitted in steady irritation. It seemed that in the same way the Deer leader allowed blatant slander to slide off his shoulders, so too he did with compliments. Claude turned toward his fellow leader, deep greens softening at Dimitri’s steely blue. He found himself mildly fascinated at the Lion leader’s indignation on his behalf. 

_… Thank you._

“It’s admirable that you let it roll off you like that, but they shouldn't say those things about you. Besides...” Dimitri trailed off, unsure whether there were any words he could offer that did not sound too presumptuous. While his attempts at support could have simply been an effort at maintaining civility among Fódlan nobles, Claude determined that prince’s words were rooted in a deeper personal truth. 

“It’s fine.” Claude waved a hand in the air to cut the tension. Now was not the time nor place to consider whether insults actually did ‘roll off’ him or if they’d just become as routine as breathing. “Don’t think too hard about it. Though it is kind of funny seeing you going all soft over little ol’ me.” 

“Make no mistake: I’m _not_ going soft,” Dimitri groaned as he realized Claude’s avoidance of serious conversation was not likely to end. “I just think you’re a pretty good guy. That’s all.” 

_Thank you._

_Really._

“Aww, you're making me blush,” Claude offered a wink, much to Dimitri’s chagrin. Why the prince continued to offer his earnest comfort in exchange for deflection, he did not know.

“Sylvain has told me I have that effect on people,” Dimitri could not help but say in return. “Goodness knows why.”

A hearty laugh bloomed from Claude’s spider cracks of insecurity. “Hey, he’s nice _and_ has a sense of humor?” he laughed as he hooked his arm around Dimitri’s neck. “I was wrong about you too! We’re going to get along just fine!”

As the pair steered themselves toward the dormitories, a young wandering boy found solace knowing that – while rare – there were people out there willing to meet him eye-to-eye.

_Thank you for being my friend._

—

Claude stood at the head of his troop formation. The sound of metal scraped loudly behind him as the soldiers readied their weapons for the assault on Gronder Field. Like demons he was sure they had all dreamed of since the war began, the faces of old friends appeared one by one on the far side of the field. A great banner of red wafted in the wind, acrid with the scent of ash and dried blood. Edelgard had always been a small yet powerful thing, and it seemed that fact never changed. The emperor, cloaked in all her majesty, led her battalion flanked by a flock of old Eagles. 

_This is the w–_

A low rumbling signaled the approach of a new battalion through the fog. 

_No._

Years ago, a sharp pang of guilt struck Claude like lightning when a haggard Alliance messenger brought home word that the Holy Kingdom, already on its last legs, had lost its renowned warrior king. Lightning struck twice, Claude believed, as a deadman approached with a pack of Lions and the shambles of his kingdom. The massive husk of a man across the field wore the once charming prince’s waxy skin like the animal pelt on his shoulders.

_Not you too._

While the remnants of the king stood safely out of striking distance, Claude could have sworn he was able to lock down a momentary glance from his former colleague of the north. To his recollection, Dimitri’s eyes were always a soft crystal blue filled with resolve and honesty. The king peeked through strands of matted hair with those same blue eyes, their porcelain youth now shattered with blood and rage. 

_What _happened_ to you?_

Too many questions stirred within Claude – questions that never left his lips.

War left no opportunity for questions.

Although reaching the high emperor had always been the original goal, it would have been an insult for the Alliance leader to consider the Faerghus king a footnote on the battlefield, as Dimitri continued to lead a brutal assault with the same sharpness as he always did. 

However, it also would have been a lie for Claude to consider the Dimitri an enemy.

_Stay away._

_I didn’t come here to fight you._

It was truly agonizing having to point Failnaught at a man Claude had no desire to kill – not that he fancied the idea of killing _any_ of his friends. It was a small mercy that Byleth too felt it wiser to stave the inevitable clash of kings for as long as she could. 

“Your usual propensity for running will be the death of you,” Byleth had ironically warned Claude. The two could at least agree, as they watched the king charge closer with Areadbhar steadily pointed forward, that running away sounded like a pretty nice idea. 

Unfortunately, there was no room for clemency at Gronder.

As the battle continued in the worst of ways, Claude was left to wonder if the humanity afforded to him at the Academy had only been a veil to mask the beast sleeping inside.

_No._

To believe so was a true disservice to the memory of a young prince and to the efforts of a king struggling to do what he believed was right. Even as the war-beaten man plowed his lance wildly into the fray, he did so to his own truth. As far as Claude could tell, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd acted with honesty in everything he did.

Perhaps to a fault. 

—

While the Empire’s temporary retreat signaled a small victory for the Alliance, the losses outweighed the gains.

Or rather, one loss in particular.

News of Dimitri’s death should not have hurt this much, Claude thought. The man had already died once. 

On the contrary, his second end was made worse, considering how he had tried so hard to push the boundaries of fate in his pursuit of justice. In the end, Dimitri lived too long after being assumed dead and died too shortly after coming back to life. What exactly broke the man's spirit to have driven him so far, Claude did not know and he would never have the chance to know.

The thought of the fallen king’s last moments – bathed in blood and clinging to his last shreds of life – was more than painful enough for Gronder to be classified in Claude’s books as a great loss. Although words of comfort he received that night assured him nothing could have been done, the truth of two-fold failure was too heavy to bear. Even with the might and wisdom of Byleth back on his side, he failed to save both someone who could have served as a critical ally and someone he believed to be a good friend.

_I’m sorry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- For whatever reason, we don’t get much insight as to what the lords think about each other, sans the obvious. That said, I’d like to think that Claude valued their opinions of him and viewed them as friends. 
> 
> \- This was supposed to be a single piece dedicated to the leaders, but I felt that the dynamics I envisioned between El and Dimitri respectively were too different to keep in one chapter, so I'm separating them. 
> 
> \- On a personal note, I’m juggling way more baggage (read: a job I have come to really, really hate) than I can keep up with, evident by how much longer it takes for me to write than over the summer months. That said, thank you all for your support and patience as I craft the final pieces of this fic that was really supposed to be just one (1) chapter.
> 
> Next: Same hat? Same hat.


	12. Insult to Injury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In war, there is only one difference between a winner and a loser.

“Hey! – nice work out there!” 

“Don’t start with me.”

It was their typical exchange, and always a seemingly benign one. Claude made a slow jog toward Edelgard as she wiped a layer of sweat off her brow. She slid her hands into her gloves, fanning her hands open and closed for a sure fit. Claude had to admit that even after having bested a relatively long line of challengers in the inter-house axe competition, the future Adrestian emperor was quite good at maintaining her regality. 

“I’m wounded, Edelgard,” Claude pouted as he planted himself in front of her. “Why must you assume that every encounter I have with you is an attempt to antagonize you? Certainly we’ve graduated from that stage at the very least.”

“My apologies,” she replied shortly. “You just make it so easy. By the way, is Hilda doing alright?” 

Claude very quickly replayed in his mind the spectacle of Edelgard’s raw power blowing Hilda’s axe clean out of her hands and over a frantic crowd of spectators. While he should have been disappointed that the Golden Deer representative did not take the win home, Claude could not help but think that the sheer entertainment value was almost worth more than a win. “Oh yeah, she’s not hurt or anything, so don’t you worry.” Claude assured her with a smile. “Besides, Hilda doesn’t care about anything anyway.” 

“What?”

“Ah nothing.” Claude bit his tongue and cursed his honesty. It was a small blessing that Edelgard did not realize that he had sent a double-sided trump card into the pool of competitors that afternoon. Whether or not Hilda won the match was irrelevant – she did not care either way, thus it was technically impossible to lose. “Ahem, as I was saying, very nice work. Not surprising, but still impressive.” Claude added with a friendly pat on the Eagle’s shoulder.

“As much as I would like to accept the barrage of compliments, just know that flattery will get you nowhere,” Edelgard said coolly.

“Well then, that’s good for me, as I don’t intend on going anywhere with you,” Claude laughed as Edelgard’s eyebrows crumpled in a mix of surprise and offense. The crease in her brow smoothed not long after she realized that his words would have only truly been insulting if they had come from anybody else. “If I’m lucky, I’m headed toward a place nobody has seen before.” 

“That’s funny coming from you,” Edelgard said with a touch of curiosity in her voice. More often than not, Claude took a comfortable back seat whenever it came to discussing with his fellow leaders goals beyond winning simple skirmishes. “I am heading toward a place like that as well.” 

“Hey, we’ve got something in comm–” 

“Though, _I _am not depending on luck to get me there.” 

Claude clicked his tongue at her. “I don’t think you need it anyway.” 

“I’m not sure what has you so nice today, but–” 

“First of all, I’m _always_ nice, thank you very much. Second, the things I say may be empty words to you, but my admiration is sincere.” Very slowly, Claude’s voice dropped in a seriousness so rare that Edelgard was almost tempted to believe him. “We lead our houses and want the best for them, yeah? But I personally think there’s nothing wrong with a bit of friendly rivalry between us.” Claude’s face fell slightly into not quite a frown, but it could have been. “But we can’t be friendly rivals if we’re not friends.” 

“Are you sure you’d want to be friends with someone like me?” Edelgard asked with a coy grin. 

It was a curious question, as it could have easily passed off as another bit of witty banter. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but something in Claude felt a very small, almost minuscule fragment of innocence. While Edelgard was certainly a force to be reckoned with, it did not exactly mean she was diametrically opposed to having friends… Right?

_I have no reason to dislike you._

“Why not?” Claude reasoned with a smile. “You seem like you’d make a good friend. You’re pretty great.” 

“What are y…” Edelgard paused, seemingly baited by sincerity. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, pretty great. Pretty and great.” 

“Whenever you say that kind of stuff, I know you’re messing with me,” Edelgard huffed as she surely questioned why she bothered wasting her time on the entire conversation. 

“You got me.” Claude laughed as he patted her on the shoulder. It was perhaps the only bit of contact he was comfortable with exchanging with her before assuming an attempt on his life via Hubert. “G’night, Edelgard.” 

_Perhaps one day, we will be friends._

—

The inevitable reunion at Gronder Field was going just as well as nobody had hoped and exactly as everybody should have expected. The emperor stood with her head held high, the tips of her gilded horns taunting the half-blind king as his war-beaten body slowly disappeared into the thicket. 

_ It's not supposed to be like this. _

As Claude and Byleth orchestrated their troops through the bloody fray, Claude could not help but feel a burning sensation slowly rising within him. It was not a soothing warmth, but one almost as ferocious as the flames roaring at the far side of the field. It took a few absent shots off of Failnaught and an even emptier swing of his spare iron axe for the hot haze raging inside to sharpen in the clarity of old memories Claude had tried his hardest to keep dead and buried.

“Anger will?” His mother would begin.

“Get you nowhere.” 

_Bullshit_.

For a woman who wore her emotions on her sleeves of golden silk, it was ironic how she expected a young boy frequently at the receiving end of death threats to contain mounting frustration that he most likely inherited from her. “However, I’m glad.” She held a cool cloth to a darkening bruise on his face. “To be angry just means you care too much.” As she enveloped young Claude in her arms, she sighed with quiet relief that her son’s spirit had not yet been broken – that there was still a heart inside to break.

_ That’s it. _

How shameful was it for the leader of the Alliance to admit, even to himself, that somewhere within the five years of war, Claude had simply stopped _caring_. Inevitably, eternities of battle began to blur the faces of the dead and erased their names from memory. Along the way, weariness turned into arrogance, allowing Claude to continuously parade himself as a diplomat among murderers, numb to the war’s growing body count. 

In a perfect world, it should not have taken the resurgence of familiar faces at Gronder falling at his feet to strike the rusted chord inside him, to make him feel again. 

_ I  _ liked _ you. _

_ All of you.  _

The fresh blood on his leather gloves did not only carry a name and a face, but a laugh, a cry, and a favorite tea that he once committed to memory.

“Oh, pay attention, you idiot!” 

Lysithea’s voice echoed behind Claude as she scowled at him angrily through a tangled mess of white hair speckled with blood. And as always, she was right: now was not the time. Claude jolted upright, repositioning himself at the back of his wyvern. With a hard swallow of the embarrassment that he had let things get so far, Claude aimed his arrow carefully at an Eagle-headed battalion in hopes that it would miss.

_ Some friend, I am. _

—

The sound of weapons clashing vibrated distantly through the long passage leading to Edelgard’s chamber. 

Byleth locked herself in a hard stance beside Claude, the Sword of the Creator held steady and shining high like an eager guillotine. On any other occasion, student would turn to esteemed teacher in search of affirmation and a simple sign that things would be okay. However, the ornate garb of the Enlightened One had a collar just high enough to shield Byleth’s bright eyes from meeting Claude’s own rimmed with shame. There was enough tact shared between them to realize that Edelgard’s bright red corpse on the Garreg Mach precipice was no victory at all. 

The two stood before the high emperor at the head of the empty room. Edelgard held herself as she always did, no matter the circumstance: majestic, powerful, and painfully lonely.

“Funny how our ambitions have brought us together again.”

“Indeed.”

“Looking beautiful as always, Emperor,” Claude lowered his head into a slow, solemn bow to meet her eyes. While much of Edelgard’s white hair had come undone from her horns and masked the smears of dried blood on her face, her eyes were surprisingly brilliant.

“Kind of you to say so,” she managed. “Though we all know you did not come here to mince pleasantries.” 

“We never did talk about important things,” Claude mused. “Maybe that’s where we went wrong.” 

“You’ve come to lecture me?” 

“No, of course not.” 

_ I am no better than you. _

_ Never have been, never will be. _

“You know I don’t want to do this.” Claude clenched the base of his ancient bow. 

“Then don’t,” Edelgard’s fiery gaze practically screamed. 

It was astounding how, even in her final hour, the emperor managed to assert her will with all her might. The knot in Claude’s stomach tightened as he felt Byleth slowly, carefully step forward. With each inch closer, Edelgard’s eyes softened at the sight of her professor with weapon in hand. It was then that he realized: if the emperor were to die, it could not and should not be by the hands of a half-hearted boy. 

She deserved better than that. 

Edelgard’s chapped lips broke into a somber smile as the Sword of the Creator slice swiftly through her already broken heart. 

“We can’t stay here.” Byleth whispered hollowly. She turned away from the crumpled mass of red and white spread beautifully across the floor, and moved past him toward the chamber exit. 

_Rest well, my friend._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2020 and cheers to my first offering of the year!
> 
> And yeah, I really have no excuse for my hiatus except for just getting absolutely decimated by Life. I had to do a bit of housekeeping since this fic turned into a much greater endeavor than I anticipated (no regrets). That said, I’m back behind the wheel and we’re gonna drive this baby home even if I have to drag it there.
> 
> Next: The last supper.


	13. The Eleventh Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cheers to the wish you were here, but you’re not.

The team’s final strategic meeting before their collective siege against Nemesis came and went, in almost eerily perfect fashion, as all the meetings held before it. 

“That’s _it_?” 

Almost perfect.

“Huh? Yeah, I guess,” Claude muttered flatly as he traced his hand over a formation diagram, eyes glued to the parchment. “What, you were expecting more?”

“Actually, I was,” Hilda huffed as a curious eyebrow disappeared into her carefully sculpted bangs. While the years gone by certainly tempered Hilda’s overt laziness, it did present itself from time to time on occasions she where was particularly pressed. Waking for a morning meeting only for it to speedily end without ceremony was a perfect example of one such occasion.

“Look, we’ve talked each other’s ears off ad nauseam. We’re probably as ready as we’ve ever been,” Claude replied. Across the table, Lorenz choked back a dismissive groan at their leader: _Probably?_ “Anyway, shouldn’t _you_ of all people be thanking me? You’ve always hated these meetings.” Hilda pouted as Claude’s lips curled into a grin – check and mate. “Now, ye of little faith, let’s move along. We have a big day ahead.” 

Thick as the haze of silent confusion among them was, the group shuffled carefully through the chamber doors, each of them searching for a moment to catch their leader’s eye. 

It never happened. 

As Lysithea made her way toward the exit, she tilted her head downward to meet Claude's eyes, still glued to the documents spread across the table.

“You better have a plan,” she said quietly. The touch of annoyance that typically colored the porcelain witch’s voice was absent – no threats, only a plea. Her words were, instead, tinged with a tiredness that someone so young should never have. Her bright eyes demanded Claude’s presence, tearing his attention away from his seemingly busy work. For the first time that morning, Claude raised his head and smiled sadly at Lysithea, bathed in the morning light. 

“You know I always do.”

Claude raised a hand and reached over to pat her head, not that the gesture ever drew any positive responses from her before, let alone comfort. His fingers barely grazed her crown of white hair before he pulled away. Learning of the inhuman experiments those who slither in the dark conducted was certainly shocking for them all and instilled an even more profound respect for Lysithea, not that she hadn’t earned as much already. In reverence, Claude slowly lowered his hand away from her head and rested it on Lysithea’s shoulder.

_ We'll make them pay. _

_ For you. _

_ And for her. _

He squeezed her shoulder gently in an effort to share any assurance he had left to give. Although Lysithea’s silence was unnerving at first, the fact that she did not pull away in disgust was enough to show her clown of a leader that she was, in fact, satisfied with his answer. Claude watched as his young colleague disappeared into the hall. A somber smile still lingered on his lips with an apology for every time he had ever teased her and a compliment for every bit of strength it must have taken her to still fight beside him.

“Claude?” called a voice from behind.

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t notice you over there.” The statement was a slightly funny one, Claude thought, as he turned his head to face Raphael towering before him. “Did you need something?”

“No, not really,” Raphael answered in hesitation as he searched for the right words to say. “Just wanted to say…. thanks.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know… I guess, time?”

_Time._

“I…” Claude trailed off as he took in the sight of Raphael thoughtfully. An unabashed commoner through and through, Raphael was rarely one to don the most intricate of clothes despite having earned a bit more money to afford it. That morning, gone away was his typically ill-fitting shirt, and if Claude had to be honest, it was a bit strange to see him in clothes that looked _nice_. Cradled in Raphael’s muscular arms was a small parcel delicately draped in soft and equally nice fabric. 

_Probably for your si–_

It took him a moment, but as realization fell over Claude, he found himself rising from his seat to shake his blond colleague’s calloused hand. He tightened his grip in an attempt to convey his gratitude that there was anyone who understood the value of time and why, despite the magnitude of their impending battle, Claude believed it was imperative for them all to bask in the sun for one more day. 

_Time to say goodbye._

“Don’t worry, I won’t be long,” Raphael said with a reassuring smile. 

It could have easily been an insult to Claude’s leadership that Raphael was using his last day before battle to ready himself – and his remaining family – for potential death. However, a leader could and should have only respect for the man, one who could have abandoned the Alliance’s cause long ago if he wanted to. In the end, it seemed that Raphael wanted nothing more than to see his sister – for her to remember him well: dressed nicely, and bringing gifts and stories from afar.

“Take all the time you need.”

_You've earned it._

_You all have._

—

“You’re still here?”

Candle in hand, Byleth peeked her head through the meeting chamber doors. Claude turned his head to the high glass windows and marveled that time had gotten away from him so easily. The sun had all but gone down, its remaining rays tinting the deep dusk beside him a faint fuzzy orange. 

“Ah,” he started sheepishly as he ran a hand through his hair in exhaustion. “I suppose I wanted to make sure everything was in check. Got to be prepared, right?” 

“You holding out on me?” Byleth pouted as she took a seat beside him.

“Sorry, force of habit,” Claude admitted absently. “Not that I didn’t… I meant to call y–” The young leader added hastily. If he had to be completely honest, it was much too hard for Claude to put into words that, over a five year span, he had simply gotten used to planning and plotting on his own. For those words to escape Claude’s lips would bring truth to the fact that he was unbothered by reverting to a lonesome battered nobody and, worst of all, that he had unknowingly filled the Byleth-shaped space beside him and inside him.

That he did not need her anymore.

_That would make it real._

“Relax, I was joking,” the professor assured him. “Though I must admit, it is a bit amusing to see how docile you’ve become.” 

Nesting her cheek on her knuckle, Byleth grimaced at her no-longer young student with a hint of sadness shading her eyes – or perhaps not. Truth be told, Claude was never able to properly read the professor back when she arrived at Garreg Mach years ago, nor had he honed the skill years later. 

_I’ve just gotten so used to seeing you in my dreams that sometimes I forget you’re really here._

“What brings you here, my friend?” Claude asked, hoping to soothe the awkward moment he had just created. 

“Had some things on my mind…” Byleth trailed off as she turned away from him, suddenly very interested in the night sky outside. 

“I figured…” 

_Me too._

_We all do..._

As a wave of silence rolled in between them, the pounding of Claude’s nervous heart began to ring louder and louder, the knots in his stomach growing tighter and tighter. Having spent the entire day mulling over strategy notes, Claude was well aware that the elephant in the room had manifested itself since daybreak and never left. Byleth’s poker face never bothered him before, but at that moment, Claude begged and pleaded with every fiber of his being for a sign that she was able to see the animal he saw and understand the writhing inside him.

_They’re dead._

_That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?_

_They’re all dead._

Another unnerving lull seeped in between them, neither of them with enough strength to meet the other’s gaze.

“Professor?” 

A soft, nervous voice carried through a crack at the doorway, tufts of Marianne’s hair barely visible. Behind her, the colorful fawn gathered cautiously. “I couldn’t sleep and I saw you come i–” 

“Oh you’re here too, Claude?” Leonie interrupted from behind. 

Byleth adjusted her position at the table and Claude slowly followed suit. “You all came together?” the professor asked with an eyebrow raise and the shadow of a gentle grin.

“I was getting a bit restless so I wanted to go for a walk in the forest and came across this guy,” Leonie threw a glance at Lorenz, who appeared to be mortally offended at being addressed so carelessly. “We got to talking a bit, but then we noticed Ignatz and Raph coming back from their daytrip–” 

“Hey, same!” Hilda chirped. “I was trying to get some beauty rest, but Marianne peeked in and said she wanted to go for a walk to ease her mind, so yeah, I guess you can say that’s how we’re all, y’know...” She paused for a moment, sizing up the candlelit scene the Deer had just walked in on. “Heeeey, are you two having a party? Without us?”

“No,” Claude said flatly. 

“Well, of course.” Hilda squeezed her way past the others, brandishing a slightly dusty bottle of wine. The herd of Deer shyly followed Hilda’s lead and found themselves sheepishly gathered by Byleth and Claude. The bubbly maiden made a beeline toward a cabinet at the far side of the room, and pulled a set of glass cups engraved with ancient symbols. Hilda uncorked the bottle expertly with her teeth and poured a measure of blood red for herself. 

“Not without some party favors you’re not,” she winked, sending a shiver down Claude’s spine.

“This is barely a party favor.” Lorenz muttered dismissively as he took the wine from Hilda’s grasp. “And this is barely what I would call a party.” 

“Good, because it’s _not_ a party.” Claude repeated as he reached for the bottle’s neck.

Leonie hovered between the two Alliance nobles and plucked the bottle from between them. “Well, too late.”

Before long, the bottle had made its way across the room. With each careless sip of the elixir, the Deer puckered their lips. The smooth liquid was mild to the palate yet overlaid with a bitterness that could not be denied. It was not long before the bitterness made its way from their lips and deeper into their memories.

“Hey Hilda, isn’t this–”

“Professor, do you know this story?” 

The tale was a short and silly foray into Academy days that felt eternities away, one in which Sylvain had supposedly gone into a cellar in the monastery tucked deep beneath the chapel and taken with him a souvenir: a bottle of carefully aged wine.

“This is some sweet stuff!” Sylvain told them as he took a swig directly from the bottle.

“You’re disgusting.” Dorothea wrinkled her nose, reaching over for her share from Sylvain’s grasp.

“I made so much fun of them after that,” Hilda laughed as she wiped a tear from her eyes, remembering how much she had teased the pair for indirect kissing. She grasped Marianne’s shoulder as she continued to laugh with her whole heart. 

Her laughter, combined with the soothing lullaby of liquor, sent ripples across the room. The chamber echoed with erratic chatter and laughter about good times – times when the sun felt brighter and the proud banners of the Eagle, Lion, and Deer were not stained in blood. The wax of Byleth’s candle dripped lazily as echoes of laughter simmered into soft cries. Tears flowed down their faces as each of them began to realize that, in their own ways, they had allowed such warm memories to grow cold like the bodies of dear friends now burned and buried. 

By the time the communal bottle runs bone dry, the Deer fall into a lazy slumber one by one. Even Marianne and Lysithea, who did not have a drop to drink, were lulled to sleep with tearful smiles, probably tranquilized by the presence of fresh ghosts.

“How did we end up here?” Byleth pondered softly as she lovingly placed her coat over a pile of students slumped together by the window.

“I wish I knew.” Claude sighed as Byleth returned to her seat beside him.

“You know, I kept talking about how I wanted to see this new Fódlan,” he started soberly, tracing a lazy finger on the rim of his empty cup. “But I suppose I didn’t realize what it would cost to see it.”

_Or that it would hurt this much._

“I don’t think anyone could have known how all this would end.” 

It was a fact, a statement that the professor delivered as flatly as any other word. However, the words latched themselves onto chinks in Claude’s armor and tugged hard. While the better part of him was well aware that now was certainly not the time for second guesses, the sickening effects of liquor and lost lives brought his guard down lower than it had ever been.

_If I had known better..._

“If I had known better–”

“You couldn’t have.” 

_This is not what I wanted._

“This is not what I wanted.”

“I know.”

_If I was a better man, maybe I could have stopped all this._

“If I was a better man, maybe I could have stopped all this.” 

“You don’t know that.”

Claude tried his hardest to undo the tight knots in his throat, his heart, and his stomach.

“As always, you’re right. I just…” he choked, practically gasping for air. “I miss them.” 

_ They were my friends. _

“As do I.” Byleth closed her eyes and lowered her head into her arms folded on the table. Before the delicate curve of her chin could hit the aged wooden table, Claude nudged an empty glass into her hands.

“A final toast, my friend?” Claude offered as he took an empty glass in hand.

“To our friends?” 

_Clink._

“To our friends.” 

—

**Epilogue**

It was truly _not _the time for Claude to be sneaking around under the midnight moon, but the magnetic pull of wholehearted concern for who he considered to be his closest friend brought him to the doorway of her dormitory. He pressed his cheek gently against the wood and closed his eyes as his heart sank.

He knew Byleth was not accustomed to crying, but the sounds creeping through the wood were unquestionable. However, that was not the first night screams of agony echoed from the professor’s quarters. Since the professor’s valiant return to the monastery, Claude had routinely found himself sitting by her door and aching to be by her side. It was a selfish desire to be sure, made worse by her stifled moans.

It is always the same: nightmares of her dead students, body count growing with every battle. 

Some nights, Claude wondered whether she resented him for living. Perhaps one of the others could have stopped this earlier, done the job better. 

_Maybe._

“I didn’t want to do this,” she has cried to the demons of her dreams that night. She cried and cried and… 

“I know,” he whispered into the wood, wanting to shake her from the nightmare they were still living in. 

“I’m so sorry, my friend.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no way these guys went from one battle to another without straight up meditating on the fact that they essentially had to mow down their old friends.
> 
> On a serious note, allow me to deviate for a minute and just say that I hope you, the reader, are doing okay with all things considered. These are pretty grim times and I hope you’re weathering this storm in as much stride as you can. Thank you for reading and all my best to you. (One day, these vague chapter notes may not make as much sense, but for now, we all know what I’m talking about.) I know it took a long time to get this penultimate chapter up, but I can at least guarantee that this puppy will be put to bed before lockdown (in my area at least) is lifted.
> 
> Finale: A brave new world.


End file.
